


(Don't) Fear the Reaper

by Elasmosaurus



Series: (Don't) Fear the Reaper [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Play, Angel!Seteth, Devil!Rhea, F/M, Happy Ending, Hidden Sylvix Angst, It's not felileth if there isn't oral, M/M, Minor Angst, Nephilim!Yuri, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Vaginal Sex, Vampire!Sylvain, ghost!felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus
Summary: Some souls are easy to reap. They come willingly, or they're too young to have any power, or they don't know how to fight back properly.Other souls refuse to be claimed. For the most troublesome offenders, Death calls in the cavalry.The two he's chosen tonight are the Death Knight and the Ashen Reaper. Granted, if either are successful the soul will go straight to hell regardless, but he cannot have it lingering around the mortal plain any longer.If Felix Hugo Fraldarius had come willingly, he would have been saved from eternal damnation.Modern AU where Byleth is a reaper who gets 5 days to claim Felix's soul for hell, which with these two, goes about as well as you'd expect. Some reincarnation themes. Although this is tagged for major character death, the people in question are still about as ghosts / undead beings.Referenced drinking, sexual content and rougher sex throughout.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Sylvain Jose Gautier & My Unit | Byleth
Series: (Don't) Fear the Reaper [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106828
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Samhains One and Two

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Belated Halloween!  
> Thanks to Vi and Sayl for being great betas.  
> Shout out to Ren and Saviana who read sections of this for me and helped massively, I really appreciated it!
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reapers are shapeshifters. The Ashen Demon has 4 main forms talked about in this fic.  
> Byleth - Female  
> Beleth - Male  
> The Ashen Reaper - They / Them / It  
> Their True Form - They / Them / It

Some souls are easy to reap. They come willingly, or they're too young to have any power, or they don't know how to fight back properly.

Other souls refuse to be claimed. For the most troublesome offenders, Death calls in the cavalry.

The two he's chosen tonight are the Death Knight and the Ashen Reaper. Granted, if either are successful the soul will go straight to hell regardless, but he cannot have it lingering around the mortal plain any longer.

If Felix Hugo Fraldarius had come willingly, he would have been saved from eternal damnation.

Now, instead, his stubbornness earned him two of hell's finest engaged in a competition to drag him to Death.

They'd prefer if he kicked and screamed, it's more enjoyable that way.

"You have five Samhains. The beings from up high will be looking for him too.

Honestly I don't care who gets him as long as he's  _ gone _ ."

The cavalry nod. The Ashen Reaper has many names, but the one that goes with the face they have donned for the task is Byleth. This form is female, and she wears a wicked hungry grin.

Demon hunter souls tasted absolutely delicious and Death did not say she wasn't allowed to bite.

  
  


**_The First Samhain_ **

The female form often made it easier to chase male quarry, so the Ashen Reaper - Byleth, now - kept it. The Death Knight stayed fixed in a menacingly melancholic and macabre apparition. It was human-esque, tall with long, pale hair and a white silken mask with slits to reveal glowing red eyes. He kept the form at all times, earning him the masculine pronouns they usually eschewed due to a shape shifting nature.

Reapers had to take souls, and it was easier to do if you looked nice.

Or hot. She reaped Casanova in a fit of passion by looking hot.

Or evil. Byleth preferred the latter. It was more fun.

Beleth, the Ashen Reaper's male form, had brought the church to its knees when he claimed their most precious prize, the Archbishop Rhea, at some point in the 1100’s. Time passed differently between Hell and Earth and Heaven, they had a hard time pinning it down. To claim a living soul - and one so holy at that - was quite a feat, too. If Rhea had been human, it would have been impossible, but the former Archbishop was of upstairs origin.

Now that same Rhea called Hell to heel. The Immaculate One was sullied, defiled, corrupted absolutely into their ruler. The perfect Devil to counter her Archangel brother Seteth, who ran Heaven.

Their true form had been so close to snaking him as well. Five more minutes of their mouth pressed against his, clawed nails drawing blood where they dug into hips, tail stroking him to ecstasy. Well, near ecstasy. They were finding their rhythm, working out exactly how to flick their tail to extract the perfect half gasps from his throat, green hair plastered against his sweaty forehead, when some unimportant underling interrupted their fun. Apparently the Storming of the Bastille was more important than the Squeezing of their Breasts, although they begged to differ.

She still felt frustrated about that day. In all honesty (although she couldn’t admit this in hell) she’d just wanted to get off, and he’d been...there. Convenient. The way the tight fabric stretched across his taught, muscled chest and the stern, disapproving tone of his voice had  _ done _ things to her...

She shivered pleasurably as she waited in the graveyard. It felt good to be above ground. The autumnal chill sank into her bones, a refreshing change from the heat of her home. Warm shades of orange and red adorned trees half relieved of the burden of leaves in cold weather. As Byleth inhaled the fresh, sweet scent of decaying leaves her eyes fell closed. She was sat curled up on a tree branch, feeling the rough bark dig into her skin through her patterned tights. They’d probably snag but she couldn’t care less as the light breeze swept loose strands of green hair into her face.

Reapers were usually neutral, but her Fae / Incubus heritage and ruthlessness at her job had earned the distrust of her peers until she was forced below. The Death Knight was just a little too...murdery...to last as a normal, topside reaper.

They were rarely allowed on Earth as citizens of Hell and when they were, it was with special permissions and restricted movements.

That wouldn’t work for them to catch Fraldarius. They needed the freedom of Samhain, where the veil between worlds was thinnest, where they could freely walk the Earth with their hellish powers manifest to full strength. He shouldn’t realise it, but he was an old soul. Past iterations of his line had hunted Citizens of the Night - the technical name for all the things that go bump in it. If he’d reached his 25th birthday, he would have realised those powers but a tragic snowboarding accident meant he’d died aged 23. Snapped neck, broken body, found in a heap against a tree.

His file said he’d attempted something called a “double black diamond” slope only advised for experts whilst on a snow holiday with his family. A quick Google had informed her the difficulty system included a “triple black diamond” and went up to a “yellow triangle,” so at least he hadn’t died being a complete idiot.

He was fit, though. She couldn’t deny that as long as hell got him, she didn’t feel her usual need to bring him in personally. The sight of that lean, muscular body stretched bare on a rack would do just nicely regardless of if she herself put him there. And the contrast between that midnight blue hair and his pale face...The sharp jawline to a pointed chin, chiselled cheekbones, piercing umber eyes with the softest edge to them...mmmmmm. She did hope he’d put up enough of a struggle. A good chase was a special kind of thrill and no-one had challenged her in a long time. She longed to  _ taste _ him. It was a particular delicacy to feast on those that killed your own.

And the Fraldarius family had killed so many of their own over the centuries.

Still, her kind weren’t the only ones chasing him. It seemed unfair that heaven’s wayfarers - their equivalent to reapers - were not restricted to specific days to hunt the legend, and that Earth time passed differently topsite, meaning they got much longer to search for Fraldarius and claim him. However, they were also completely inept, so she couldn’t begrudge them that much. And Samhain to Samhain was only a month or so in Hell timescales, depending on which circle you were in. Not that she thought she'd need a second.

Crunching of fallen leaves underfoot roused Byleth from her thoughts. Three men with the same indigo hair as her prey approached his gravestone. The Fraldarius Family. She was cloaked, so they shouldn’t sense her.

The father - Rodrigue - placed a sprig of pine needles on the grave. Minimalist. Probably an indication of Felix’s personality. She’d have to remember that, it could tell her something about his fighting style. The elder of the other two figures wrapped an arm around a blonde girl and pulled her tight. Glenn Benjamin Fraldarius (affectionately nicknamed Glenjamin, she recalled) and his fiancée Ingrid. The final figure was shorter than the others and must be a cousin or something, although there was someone else with them and - What the fuck was Sylvain doing here?

Actually -  _ how  _ the fuck was he here, anyway? It wasn’t overcast enough for him to be outside.

_ Ohhh _

This must be one of his incarnations. Philanderer that he was, Gautier had heirs before he turned vampire and, like with the Fraldarius and Blaiddyd lines, occasionally genetics liked to throw out carbon copies of their ancestors for the bants. She rather thought one Sylvain,  _ her  _ Sylvain, was more than enough for the world thank you very much. This one was close with the target, Fraldarius. Good to know. Should the worst happen, OG Sylvain might be able to shed some light on Felix before she tried a second reaping.

Honestly, Byleth had expected Felix to show his face by now. Her eyes scanned the graveyard quickly, focusing on the usual places a ghost would hide until she realised.

The shortest one was looking right at her.

But she was cloaked, that shouldn’t be possible.

She uncurled, dropping her legs over the branch to lean forwards. His eyes followed her every movement. Her own narrowed as she stared into them, drinking in their golden brown fire. Byleth cocked her head as she noticed they were dulled from death.

Ah. Hello, Felix. Being dead was why he could see her. No use waiting then. Especially as she could feel the Death Knight stalking over from the southwest. Byleth wanted to play with the food first.

She shimmied her hips off the branch and fell forwards into a low crouch with all the grace of a cat. Their eyes never broke contact. Hunger stirred deep within her gut and for the love of all things unholy she wanted to  _ devour _ him. Her legs carried her forwards, lazily stalking her prey until she could feel the cold of his ghostly form in the scant air between their skin. It made her hair stand on end.

Kisses were her preferred weapon for reaping. Easy to steal with seduction but a challenge to claim in a fight. Closely guarded secret about fae magic - it’s capable of giving corporeal form to objects, so the obsidian athame tattoo on her forearm is more than just decorative. Once strapped to her back, the obligatory reaper's scythe was now inked into it for lightweight travel and ease at airports. Early starts with her father to fish and posturing over whose were bigger led to Byleth getting her closest guarded secrets: a small fishing rod on her left ankle and a smaller ruler on her calf. When asked, she swore vehemently it was a tally of her reaped soul count in an ancient Morfis dialect.

For Fraldarius...oh, her body burned for the fight, for the challenge he could give her. But the Death Knight had his scythe poised, mere steps from them now, and Felix had this inherent magnetism. Byleth needed to do this now, and the beautiful scowl adorning his features almost dared her to. So she pushed her hips into his, tilted her face up and raised up onto the balls of her feet when that wasn’t enough to make their mouths brush. Risking a glance down from his eyes to the dusky pink of his thin lips broke the captivating spell between them. It was a fraction of a second but when their eyes met again, they were wise. Old. Problem. Big problem.

A calloused hand with long, dextrous fingers gripped her face as he chanted words he had no business knowing because  _ he died aged 23 _ .

Bastard demon hunters and their bastard lineages. The old soul had taken over to protect him. He’d remember their teachings next time too. Her fingers grasp for the athame to finish the job but the last few lines of latin leave his lips and the Ashen Demon and Death Knight both are dragged into Hell by the portals that open behind them.

Bones breaking make a delightfully sickening snap when they belong to the damned. The Ashen Demon is not so fond of the sound when it belongs to their own fleshy casing. They survey where in the nine circles of hell they are as bones knit back together and their dislocated shoulder pops itself back into the socket.

Even the coldest reaches of hell are preferable to here. They try the door quickly, noting the blasted Death Knight had been spared this fate when the handle refuses to turn.

“Come here,” she coos, and it’s Beleth who turns back towards the four poster bed in the middle of the room.

Rhea had called him to heel. The first Samhain was lost. He may as well enjoy his temporary prison and hope the binding magic of the exorcism wears off in time for him to speak to Sylvain about Fraldarius before the second Samhain was upon him.

~~~~~

**_The Second Samhain_ **

Ceasefire is one of the few places on Earth where citizens of Heaven, Hell, the Night and the Light can rub shoulders. Citizens of the Night was the technical term for all the things that went bump in it on Earth: your vampires, werewolves, fae, banshees, satyrs, nymphs, even fucking leprechauns were counted in this category. Citizens of the Light was exclusively used for those with divine intent on Earth, so all the helpful, heaven-aligned races? Ignored. Shunned as lesser, despite all the hard work they did to further the heavenly agenda. No wonder Hell’s border patrol had had a recent influx of fed up cupids and guiding spirits looking for recognition for hard work and a rules-free good time, which her brethren were all too happy to show them. Wayfarers, human prophets (but not oracles, oh no, how  _ ungodly _ it was that they saw only for themselves and human benefit) and hunters were the only beings deemed worthy to be called Children of the Light. Nephilim, like the bar’s owner, Yuri, were considered abominations by all. This particular abomination made a mean cocktail though, so people put their hatred aside to frequent the watering hole. Byleth did hate the stupid politics between the realms of Heaven, Hell and Earth, but more importantly she  **loved** Monster Mash Margaritas. So naturally, she adored the half human, half angel being that laughed at her when she slid, dejected, into a bar stool. He was proof that a whole could be more than the sum of its parts - the realms were just scared of his demi-godlike power. The only abominable thing about him was how unfairly good he was at contouring.

Yuri slipped a vulnerary into a Long Island Iced Tea and pushed it over to her. Those were lethal enough normally but she finished hers in three swift gulps, feeling the warming healing properties knit the deep gash in her left side back together and fix the broken ribs on her right. It left her a touch light headed.

Citizens of the Light (Lights, for short) never enter Ceasefire because they can’t bring themselves to hold the, y’know, ceasefire, that allows the bar to exist. Hunters did like to lurk outside it. Drunk Citizens of the Night made easy targets after all.

It was unfortunate that she’d run into Ashe and Lysithea in particular, though. The Oracle Mercedes had told them ghost stories (with too much real information in her opinion)  _ one time _ and they’d fallen into an internet rabbit hole that started with watching Ghost Facers and ended with them being anointed into some of the fiercest, most deadly hunters to walk the Earth this century.

Amber eyes flashed in her mind unbidden and a fleeting thought of how Felix would compare if he’d come of age before dying danced out of her head as quickly as it appeared.

Bastard heavenly magic had extended their lifespans, too, so Ashe and Lysithea weren’t going anywhere any time soon unless someone killed them.

She recalled the time the Death Knight tried and the pint sized albino girl shot dark spikes into him (that magic definitely had a demonic origin, Heaven were such hypocrites). He looked like a pin cushion when he limped back into Hell. The memory tugged her lips into a faint smile.

“M’liege,” called a small voice from somewhere beneath her. Looking down, she spotted the gnome she tasked with following Felix for the Earth year whilst she was stuck below.

“The wayfarers got real close see, but he was able ‘ter banish ‘em.”

He could banish the heavenly, too? The Fraldarius line was  _ powerful. _

“He’s been doin’ some readin’ tho miss, askin’ questions an’ such. Think he knows ‘bout rips now.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. Rip wasn’t even that much shorter than reaper. It was a stupid nickname for her kind.

“But he don’t know nothing ‘bout you miss. Ain’t no-one stupid nuff ‘ter say stuff ‘bout ya.”

And she’d burnt any written references during the Salem Witch Trials, so he wouldn’t find anything in even the most accomplished occult library. The gnome’s double negative worried her though. If Felix didn’t know nothing, he would know something.

She was probably being too picky about grammar again.

Byleth nodded at the gnome and tossed him a Babylonian coin for his troubles. The gnome’s greedy little eyes lit up as he scurried off with it.

When she looked up, a Monster Mash Margarita was waiting on the bar for her, next to an O negative Bloody Mary. A hand gloved in soft silk the same colour as his russet hair grabs hold of her fingers so Sylvain can brush his lips against her knuckles in a gesture even she knows is outdated.

“My, my, By, you are a delight to look at,” he croons.

“Does that ever work?” She snaps back, earning a laugh. He’s a vampire, he could use the hypnotic lilt of his voice to get what he wanted, but the man loved to earn it himself. Masochist. She appreciated how concerned he was with consent, though. Even for fiends like them, consent is important.

“Nah, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right?” He rubs a hand sheepishly on his neck. They clink their glasses together before taking a gulp. Salt from the rim floods her taste buds first, then tart lemon and bitter demon’s horn, followed finally by the burn of tequila flavoured regret.

Sylvain’s clothing was also filling her with regret. Earth was now in the 21st century by their own reckoning, the victorian era garb of a top hat and tails, with the walking cane to boot, was unnecessarily extra and just him playing into the vampire image.

But Sylvain Jose Gautier always did lean into the roles he thought he had to play. The habits of his life had bled into his unlife.

She needed to talk to him about that life now. Research, heal up properly, and she should still have a few hours to wrangle Felix’s soul into eternal damnation.

“I need you to tell me about your life.”

His brows furrowed. “Why? What do you need to know?”

“My current target is Felix Fraldarius.”

“Fe?” he barely whispered, a faraway look on his face. Curious. Apparently he wasn’t the only incarnation running around. Fraldarius must be one too.

And what in the nine circles did that look mean?

Sylvain shook his head and began playing his favourite game, masquerade. It was such a shame he hadn’t been born in more modern times, he’d make a fantastic actor.

Was that what his current iteration did for a living?

“No can do, babydoll. I don’t talk about back then.” The causal, ingenuine smile made her skin crawl.

Pet names grated on her. She normally tolerated them for his sake but his stupid last minute idea to meet here rather than near the agreed upon portal had gotten her kicked, slashed, shot at and nearly bound back to hell when she had more pressing things to do. He hadn’t even told her before she left. She traipsed for an hour from the other side of Garreg Mach city to get there because he didn’t have the common fucking courtesy to give her a heads up.

A familiar need crept back into her bones, instinctively balling her hands into fists. Fraldarius better live up to the legends of his heritage she read in the library of the pits. She ached for a good fight. One of his ancestors sent Morningstar himself back to the fiery depths, and his journal of the fight was a  _ captivating _ read. Her tongue ran over sharp white canines as she imagined sinking them into the flesh of his neck, punching that pretty face -

Pretty?

Hang on, she was getting away from herself. She was mad at Sylvain for being a flake.

“Ashe and Lysithea found me because you changed our meet. You owe me this.”

“I owe no-one anything more than a good time, love.”

Including yourself, she thought bitterly. In truth, Sylvain held a special place in the cavernous husk of her chest where a heart should be. But he was harder work than making a trickster speak the truth. The casual self loathing and entire lack of self esteem was hidden behind a confidence that leached into arrogance and a tendency towards self destruction. Attempts to prise open the armour around his heart often left you bleeding.

New strategy.

“You did know the Fraldarius line in your past life, though?”

His chocolate eyes stared deep into hers. She could hear the cogs whirring in his head.

A small, curt nod to the affirmative.

“Were they hunters then, too?”

“No idea. We were too busy fighting a war. Also, no ‘they.’ It was just Felix. And all his gingers,” Sylvain added with a wry smile. Ooooh, that smile was  _ real. _ Nostalgic, even. Hm.

She’d read that his family had all died. It would be tragic if she could bring herself to care.

“He ever present any powers?”

“Nah. But he always had old eyes. Real intense. And a keen sense of perception. That means something to your kind, right?”

Her turn to nod. She took another sip of her margarita. If he wasn’t sharing properly, she didn’t have to either.

“What was his fighting style like?” Hopefully the nostalgia and the vodka would get Sylvain talking. It did.

“He started real noble. We were raised as knights, after all. Then we met this mercenary who turned everything all around. He became obsessed with beating them and started using some of their scrappier techniques.”

So she could expect a mix of styles, then. Sylvain’s deep sigh held more emotion than she thought him capable of when he started to speak.

“Listen, By - I’m not going to help you damn his soul. Felix deserves some peace after what we went through back then, and Goddess knows he didn’t find it at the time. So stop asking me these questions, m’kay?” He closed his eyes and turned away from her, nursing his drink.

They sat together like that in silence for hours, Yuri dutifully producing refills when their glasses ran dry. She listened to the general hubbub of chatter in the bar behind her. A gruff dwarven dialect echoed from behind a partition used to give patrons privacy and help avoid the arguments that inevitably devolved into fights.

When you made your living from creatures that liked to war against each other by demanding they didn’t, with alcohol involved, you had to make any concession you could to avoid bloodshed.

Being a badass Nephilim was one. She’d only seen Yuri use his powers once, to extricate a higher demon that was trying to feed on a satyr. The guy couldn’t eat for a week. Couldn’t walk for a month. Still struggled to fly, and they reckoned his powers would be bound for at least one eternity.

The other concession was design. There were sigils in the walls that dampened most magics, sections of the bar crafted to be more suitable to certain species and therefore keep them away from the others they were most likely to argue with. The partitions prevented races that would kill each other on sight from seeing each other. Scent worked differently here, attuned to emphasise ones you enjoyed and downplay ones you didn’t. Perfect for when werewolves came in from the rain. The only smell worse than wet dog was wet werewolf. It’s the anger pheromones.

Sound could be attuned, too. Yuri had thought of everything when crafting this demilitarized no man’s land on the Earth realm.

She mulled it over in her head. Her Sylvain and his Fraldarius - they’d clearly been close. How close were these current iterations? Could she use their connection to lure her quarry into a trap?

It would be easy enough to find the other Sylvain with a little tracking spell. Byleth hated herself for what she was about to do. The Ashen Reaper had a reputation for playing with their food, but using Sylvain actually felt bad.

He’d been used enough, over the years.

“I’m sorry pumpkin. If there was another way, eh?” She scratched behind his ear reassuringly and felt some of his tension melt away. Her index fingertip came away red.

“You could let the wayfarers get him.” It was so faint she couldn’t be sure he’d actually spoken.

If it was a real option, she might have, for Sylvain. More likely, the Death Knight would get Felix, or no-one would and Death would pitch a fit. She was sure there were other consequences to a soul being stuck on Earth, but the cavalry clean up crew she was a part of had never failed. She exhaled heavily, her chest heaving, before donning one of the redhead’s favourite personas - the serial seducer - to face Yuri.

“Put it on my tab, gorgeous. I’ll be back to settle after I see to business.” She winks at Yuri with a flirty smile before heading out the back exit, hoping to avoid the Lights.

No sign of them. Good. When outside, she uses the blood she stole from Sylvain with a sharp fingernail as a catalyst for the tracking spell. A strong, otherworldly wind pushes at her back, forcing her forwards out of the dark alleyway. She steps into the street and is swept off to the left. Byleth follows where the wind takes her.

She ends up at the cemetery again. The current iteration of Sylvain stands, alone this time, in front of Felix Fradarius’ grave.

What was it that bound these two?

She felt the Death Knight enter the Earth realm. Huh. Why had he remained in hell for so long? Half of Samhain’s day was already gone. A mystery for another time.

Human Sylvain is younger here than her vampiric chum. Not quite as tall, not quite as broad, not quite as completely trampled by the world. By the hunch of his shoulders though, she thinks he’s getting there. Hair the same dark shade of red ghosts his face and not for the first time Byleth ponders how distinguished her friend would look with a proper beard. Shame the undead can’t grow hair.

Placing a hand over her forearm in a gesture that looks vulnerable but is actually to put her reaping athame in easy reach, Byleth walks towards him. Uncloaked as she is, they will be able to talk. She can find out his favourite haunts - heh, she chuckles inwardly at the pun, her Sylvain would be proud - to create a list of where to search for Fraldarius. 

The “Hey” she intends to fall from her lips is stolen and turned into a pained grunt instead as a kick collides with her still sore ribs.

Byleth staggers forwards, using the sideways movement to lose momentum so she doesn’t fall over. She turns away from human Sylvain towards the direction the kick came from. Fingers press into the cloaking sigil she carved into her hip in preparation so no one can see the ghost and the reaper fight. She pulls the athame out of her forearm.

Felix’s eyes are intense. They burn with concern, a thinly veiled hatred, and the wisdom of age. Funny that, because they’re the same colour as the smokey barrel aged whisky her father loved.

She always poured a bottle of it out over his grave on the anniversary of his death.

Well, half a bottle. She drank the rest.

What would Felix taste like?

No wait - her brain went to the wrong place with that. She tasted blood, and fear, and death. Not skin, or tongues, or - well.

Fuck, now she was doing it again.

**Focus.** The Ashen Reaper tugged at her consciousness. Byleth didn’t know what they would do differently, because she could feel the drool that was falling out of its mouth at their thoughts.

It had a point though. Priorities.

1 - Stand up straight after the kick. She’d lost the momentum, so she straightened her back. Check.

2 - Work out why he was concerned, because from what she could tell, pissed was Felix’s general state of being. Being able to explain his emotional state would help her predict his actions in the inevitable step

3 - Fight. Self explanatory. Biting compulsory.

4 - Sneak a kiss, or stab him, or cut him in half with a scythe. Reap the demon hunter bastard, and be home in time for unholy communion.

5 - Mess around with an Incubus because CLEARLY she needed it. Not Riegan though.

So, priority 2. Felix was concerned. He dropped into a low half crouch, good center of gravity, and tried to flank her. He  _ does _ know how to fight. Fun. Catching her off guard though? Not happening again. Their movements mirrored the other’s until Felix stopped. Huh. She was expecting to keep circling.

OH.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

Okay, so why - ah. The blood. He could smell the blood she’d stolen for the spell. Sensitivity to it had helped one of his ancestors successfully hunt vampires in the 1300’s. Where Felix hadn’t properly come into his powers and was just having them thrust upon him by his predecessors in a desperate bid to stay out of hell, he couldn’t tell that this blood wasn’t human and was older in every sense than his Sylvain’s blood.

Fraldarius was concerned for his friend. Hence circling her until he stood between them. Noble, really. Chivalrous, even. Kind of him to reveal a weakness she could exploit.

She was grinning now, because what came next was one of her favourite things in the world. A single finger crooked at him twice, curling in to beckon him closer. An invitation to start. He took it.

Felix advanced on her in slow, deliberate steps. No fair, that was her move.

If she preferred reaping with a scythe, she could probably take him from here. But Byleth loves the look in the soul’s eyes when they finally realise all is lost, and you can’t see it as well from the end of a pole.

So she steps in too, bringing their bodies closer to a fated meeting. She nearly forgets about the athame in her hand. It’s backup anyway. Felix needs to taste damnation on his lips. She needs to feed it to him. A snarl rises in her throat.

He doesn’t forget. And - wow, he’s really flexible with all these high kicks. Ow. That was her shoulder. Byleth drops the blade, causing it to disappear from this plane and reappear on her forearm. She rolls the hurt shoulder slowly. Pain’s not too bad. It’s not dislocated. And it still has enough power to ensure his nose makes a satisfying crunch as her knuckles collide with it. She punches his face again and damn, those chiselled cheekbones  _ are _ sharp enough to cut. Blood from the split skin of her hand remains on his face.

She wants to lick it off. Maybe later.

Felix’s hand connects with her face in a vicious backhand. Byleth staggers back, out of reach. The sharp, metallic tang of her blood hangs in the air. Byleth can’t resist making eye contact as she seductively licks the trickle leaking from her mouth, then sucks on the busted lip until it stops bleeding. The warm liquid is grounding. His breath hitches and he looks flustered. Excellent, she can use that. But she didn’t predict the backhand. Felix demands more of her attention.

Fine. She'll give it to him.

Their bodies collide again. Her quarry’s attacks are relentless. Some punches land. Others, she deflects or absorbs. Knees connect with her sides, and his, all their limbs tangled as they try to inflict pain on the other. At one point, her hands find their way into his hair. She yanks. Then she’s the one landing blows, scratching at his face. The demon hunter goes to place his hand on her face like last time. Latin words of exorcism form on his lips but Byleth bites his hand. He has the nerve to look  _ offended.  _ She licks it for good measure.

Palms on her clavicle push. Space opens between them again. Both pant heavily from exertion. Felix doesn’t look as beat up as she feels. That weariness starts to settle in her bones and her movements are more sluggish.

Rather than try her target again, she charges towards Sylvain. The calculated risk pays off. Felix is less careful as he rushes to defend his friend. Left side wide open, she demonstrates her own flexibility. Another satisfying crunch of bone, beneath her boot this time. It connects with a hip.

Her elbow jabbed into the hunter’s side. Palm snapped upwards, jerking his head back. Forces him off balance. Felix’s arms flail, searching for purchase as he falls. Long, dextrous fingers belonging to a calloused hand grip around her wrist and she’s tilting towards the ground with him. Lands on top. Felix’s head makes a gross thud as it hits the ground (why is his body so corporeal? He’s a fucking ghost. Oh shit, Samhain. The veil’s thin so he’s more present. Old souls can manifest better. Hunter blood. Plus the proximity to his actual body, being in a graveyard, and strong protective emotions - she’s being an idiot. Of course his body is practically real). Her chest collides with her target’s shoulder and it knocks the wind out of her. But her quarry’s lips are in reach now. She leans in slowly, her breath the faintest flicker of air against his face. The anticipation of reaping Fraldarius like this coils deep in her core and she feels a warmth spread within. Those dusky pink muscles are almost in reach....she licks her lips. She needs to taste him, more than she needs oxygen. Damnation should be pleasant. Do ghosts carry scents? Felix smells like an oxymoron of the crisp, cold air following the first snow and the warming fires lit to beat that same chill. Cloves, too. That could explain the weird numbing in her brain.

The target recovers first. Wraps thin but strong legs around her waist. Flips them over so the demon hunter is on top. 

Then Felix used his weight to pin her to the ground. Held her hands together in one of his as he started to draw banishing glyphs with his free one and -

Fuck, was he hard? His thick length had to be what was pressing into her midriff.

Byleth couldn’t be sure because once again, her stomach plummeted as she fell into Hell through the portal the bastard demon hunter opened.

She landed gracefully, in the frozen circle this time, which was good because she needed the cold to take the edge off the desire flooding her body.

Never had the prospect of so very many steps seemed this inviting. The trudge would give her enough time alone with her thoughts that were definitely  _ not fantasies. _

By the time she got to the cavernous Grand Hall of Hell, Byleth had successfully deluded herself into believing it was only bloodlust she felt for Fraldarius.

Seven souls in various states of mutilation - one cut clean in half - were perched on her favourite chaise lounge. Byleth clucked disapprovingly. They were getting blood on it. And what in Morningstar's name were they doing here, not in processing?

Abysskeeper, who watched over the main door to Hell (and any of its subsidiary portals), held the answers of course. He knew nearly everything that went on here. His conversation with Mr Backup (whose name they refused to learn because he was only on loan from hell's maximum security prison where they held the archangel Michael of all people) explained everything.

"Murder makes the Death Knight a liability."

"The fresh meat?" Byleth tilted her head at the wayward souls.

"Aye. Heaven is trying to claim them because of how they died. Gaia - that's the nature deity who oversees Earth and neutrality - is presiding over it all. So now we have to show them the best of Hell's hospitality. Which is a nice seat and no torture. Good thing Rhea made the Death Knight properly plan before leaving here too. If this is what he managed in half a day topside whilst still hunting that Fraldarius, we'd be drowning in souls if he had a full day."

Ah. So he was plotting down here for half of Samhain. It explained his late show. Made sense that Rhea was keeping an eye on him, too. Death had relinquished the Death Knight to hell because of the murderous liability, after all.


	2. The Third Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth continues to try and kid herself that she doesn't like Felix. It doesn't work. So she lets Beleth take the reins for a bit and the Ashen Reaper realises they may have bitten off more than they can chew when it comes to reaping Fraldarius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you sitting comfortably? Have you got a glass of water? Good.
> 
> You're now prepared to settle down to read the chapter that makes this a true Felileth fic. There's some plot in here too but...

**_The Third Samhain_ **

All things considered, Byleth had been relatively lucky last time. The target had tried to exorcise her again. He only succeeded in banishing her, plus he hadn't realised any of his other magics.

Based on the whisperings of Hell, the first wayfarer to actually make contact with Fraldarius was not so lucky. Thoron burns were nasty. Life would really be so much easier if the stubborn mule would just give in and let someone claim his soul.

She was very glad he didn't.

Byleth spent her rest time between Samhains planning their next encounter and training with a scythe, all thoughts of approaching an incubus curbed by an intense drill routine. She was finally starting to admit that Felix was a good match for her abilities. A worthy opponent. The advantage of a long weapon would be necessary for her to get the job done.

Beleth piped up that he might be better suited to take Fraldarius down, but Byleth had started this, and she wanted to see it through until the end.

She didn’t know what possessed her to take a shower and fully clean herself before leaving hell on the third Samhain. Or to don a matching pair of lacey, midnight blue panties and bra. The rest of her outfit - stretchy black skinny jeans, a flowy white top with an underbust corset that emphasised her already curvaceous chest - was pretty standard attire for her.

That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway. And, that it was only bloodlust she felt for Fraldarius.

She should leave hell through the front door but she really couldn’t be bothered with all the people. Or a gloomy Abysskeeper now Mr Backup was redeployed to guarding Michael and he was, once again, alone. Instead, Byleth grabbed a piece of chalk and pictured the cemetery where Fraldarius was buried as she drew a door on the wall of her room. She closed her eyes, placed her hands on it and pushed. In the same way fae magic could make her tattoos real, they could make this door real. It gave under her direction and she stepped forwards until fallen leaves crunched underfoot. Fae doors were a handy way to travel, but the whole “closely guarded secret” thing meant she had to use it sparingly.

Hell had this really cool arsenal of weapons. She’d discovered that the Fraldarius line had a relic which passed from father to son but had been intercepted by a werewolf at some point. Maybe from the Bergliez pack? The werewolf in question had been killed by Lights, who had then been cut down by the Death Knight, so the relic ended up in the unholy armoury.

No wonder Fraldarius was permanently pissed. She’d be mad too if the badass weapon she claimed as birthright was a _shield._ Touching it though, Byleth felt a jolt of electricity that she recognised from reaping Jack the Ripper.

Carelessly, Jack had lost a tophat. Left it at a crime scene whilst Beleth hunted him. The hat stung him then, and they were soul bonded as the darkness within them both ached to extinguish the other. He was able to use the bond to track the Ripper and drag Jack to damnation, where he belonged.

The whole of hell danced to the music of his screams. Asmodeus, a higher demon, did a wonderful job with Jack’s punishment - the vivace of torment made a delightful beat for a tango.

Shocks of electricity from the soul bond led her back to Ceasefire, of all places.

She needed to settle her bill anyway.

Yuri frowned at Byleth when she walked in. She held her hands up in surrender and apologised.

"In my defense, I was banished back to Hell. You want bitcoin or Agarthan Sukhes?"

“Bitcoin made its way into Hell already?”

Byleth laughed. “It _came_ from Hell.”

“I’ll definitely be wanting the Sukhes then, friend.”

She handed over the coins and, debt settled, Yuri’s frown eased into the smile that was simultaneously the brightest and most dangerous thing in the room.

Felix wasn’t here. Soul bond tracking wasn’t the most precise method. It relied on ties between two individuals and notoriously did not account for time. Byleth knew who'd be able to give her some more information, but he wasn't anywhere she could see in the bar.

“Where’s my favourite redhead?”

“I’ll tell Hapi you said that,” Yuri retorted.

“How do you know I wasn’t asking about her?”

Yuri made a face at Byleth. She tried to stare him down, but he was a master of intimidation.

“You’re right, of course. But it’s about -”

“Fraldarius, I know. I’m not Sylvain's keeper.”

“You are the keeper of the liquids he drowns his sorrows in,” Byleth pushes.

An exasperated sound leaves his lips. “You’re a good patron, Reaper, but not my only. By your admission, Sylvain pays me better, so his wishes are more important than yours.”

“So he _is_ here then.”

“I didn’t say that,” Yuri says as he sashays over to serve the naga at the end of the bar.

Byleth and Yuri had shared a long friendship. She knew what he didn’t say was just as important, if not more so, than what he did.

Sylvain was about somewhere, and avoiding her. It wasn't useful to be hurt about it, so she ignored the pang it caused.

Byleth attempted to rest her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes. Comfy? No, but it helped her think.

Warmth radiated from her side and when her lids fluttered open she was treated to an eyeful of caramel thighs clad in indecently short shorts.

Byleth closed her eyes again as she raised her head, purposefully avoiding any opportunity to catch a glimpse of his bulge. Riegan would never let her live it down if she did. He was resting two fingers over the branded crescent moon on his collarbone. Odd that he was using the formal greeting between sex demons. She returned the gesture, resting her fingers in the dip at the base of her neck. Byleth never presented an affinity for a clade, so she’d never been branded.

Claude was bound to the Silver Tongues. Those were the people you called to help you talk or lick your way out of any situation, or just for a generally good time.

If he was going to be so formal, she should ask about business. It was only fitting. “I heard the siren Dorothea has you on retainer.”

He nodded. “She needs some help working on voice projection and by the stars, do I make her loud.”

“Voice projection?”

“The seas are getting noisier. Sonar, explosions, engines. Lots to be heard over.”

It made sense, Byleth supposed. She ought to ask him about pleasure as well.

“How’s the new pet coming along?”

Claude’s eyes filled with pride as he stared into the depths of the bar. Leaning forwards into her personal space, his honeyed words clung to her skin. “You tell me,” he bites his lip seductively as a hand lazily pushes her cheek to direct her gaze towards the pink haired cupid bound and blindfolded in a corner. Sylvain appeared from behind a cloth veil between rooms in the same dark recess of the building. Stood halfway between the room he was leaving and the main bar he was entering, his position was a perfect metaphor for his unlife between the living and the dead. Sylvain would appreciate the poetry of it. She appreciated the fine ropework holding Hilda’s wrists together.

“Oh, I recognise her. She defected to us. Something about heaven making her do too much work?”

Claude giggled. Real smooth, incubus, giggling like a 12 year old girl. He did look gleeful, though.

“Sounds like my girrrrl,” he rolled the r, deepening the tone into his sex voice. “You owe me a piece of Judas’ silver. Stop betting on the wrong side.”

Byleth scoffed and summoned the agreed wager. Hilda really should have held out on breaking for another week. For her pocket’s sake. But she, of all people, understood how potent a sex demon’s charm was. “You’re incorrigible, Clau-.”

Byleth’s words died in her throat as Sylvain stepped out of the doorway and she saw Felix standing behind him. All thoughts of reaping him with her scythe or a kiss were forced out of her head, replaced with images of biting his lips and pressing hers against his nipples. Feeling them move together, his weight bearing down against her as her back arched into his deathly cold form.

The teasing sensation of Claude’s tail on her arm brought Byleth blinking back to her senses. She gripped it and tugged sharply, pulling him down. Her boot on his shoulder pinned his face into the floor.

“Tail to yourself.” Claude shivered at her touch and firm grip, causing Byleth to drop his tail immediately with a disgusted look.

Felix made an approving noise that sent a jolt between her legs. The lustful, hungry, come hither so I can eat you eyes he made had the desired effect, because everything else melted away and somehow she’d closed the distance between them.

When did they end up in a private room?

His abs were deliciously toned and - oh fuck, when had his top come off? Was that it, torn into shreds on the floor? Covering something black with ribbons sticking out and - 

Why was her corset on the floor?

When had _her_ top come off?

She had to stop this happening. She couldn't sleep with her target. Monumentally terrible idea. Byleth closed her eyes, and let Beleth take over. He should have more luck.

Felix snickered and the deep, low sound set Beleth’s heightened nerves on edge. “Well aren’t you handsome?” he murmured into Beleth’s ear, gripping his hips harder, pushing his arousal into Beleth's hardening erection. The friction felt heavenly, and he didn't mind the chill from the ghost. It stopped him spontaneously combusting from desire. Illicit moans he tried, and failed, to swallow fell from Beleth’s lips. Felix pulled back to stare into his eyes as he added “Will you fuck me, or be fucked by me, like she would?”

Fuck. Beleth, Byleth, the Ashen Reaper, their true form - every other shape they could take in between - they were all damned to eternity in the pit.

Well and truly damned.

He should try to damn the hunter too. Beleth leaned forwards to catch Felix's lips with his own, a last ditch attempt to reap him, but a finger on his lips, gentle tutting and a stern look stop him. "I’m not leaving Earth until your throat is sore from screaming my name. So no kissing."

A low, needy whine left Beleth’s throat as Felix traced his tongue up his neck and sucked on his earlobe.

“Biting’s encouraged, though,” Felix breathed into his ear, earning him a groan. Beleth took him up on the offer, teeth meeting the skin on his neck and his clavicle, scraping against his jaw.

And now Felix was perched on the cot with Beleth straddling him. Their jeans had come off at some point - Beleth had vague memories of Felix making him undo the zipper and pull them off with his teeth. The desire within stopped him from thinking straight. Beleth decided to just accept that this was happening.

"Guess I'm fucking you." Beleth can feel the words against his neck as Felix presses kisses from the base up to the corner of his jaw. Huh, he’d been too preoccupied to remember Felix’s question, but he was fine with the outcome either way.

They could fuck out the sexual tension and _then_ he'd be able to focus on reaping Fraldarius.

Fucking was like fighting. It could be considered training. Learning his quarry's weaknesses.

Felix's teeth grazed his earlobe and Beleth briefly considered the opposite was true. The predator had become the prey, and Felix was going to learn all his weaknesses and take him apart. The promise of it was in the wicked glint in his golden eyes.

Beleth found he didn't mind. Those intense eyes alone made his dick ache to be touched.

“God I want you,” Beleth panted in Felix’s ear.

Felix brings lube slicked fingers - when did he do that? - up to Beleth’s face. “Take me then.”

Beleth adjusted his position to give Felix better access to his hole, but the hunter didn’t move.

Beleth frowned questioningly. Felix looked pointedly at his hand, then at Beleth’s hand, then stared at where he wanted those fingers to go.

Beleth pressed his forehead against the demon hunter’s and mewled, eyes scrunched up.

Felix gripped Beleth’s chin hard with his other hand. “Slowly. Eyes open. I want to watch you.”

How could he resist that commanding tone of voice? Beleth obliged, guiding Felix’s fingers to tease circles against his rim that send shocks up his spine. His breaths come out heavier now and his eyes glaze over, but they dutifully stay open. Felix’s eyes never leave his face and Beleth can see every spark of pride that flickers in them when Beleth’s breath catches or he sighs or gasps in pleasure. Beleth tries to push back, to take the fingers inside where he needs them, where he needs Felix, but the fucking bastard demon hunter has quick reflexes. Felix moves with him, leaving Beleth chasing the extra pressure and the fullness he desires. Beleth bites into Felix’s shoulder viciously, clamping down until the skin gives. 

Saints above and below, does he taste _amazing._ Killing Nights and Citizens of Hell causes a chemical reaction in hunters. For each life they take, their powers become more potent. It’s a survival mechanism, designed to give those most at risk of attack a better chance of surviving it. Unfortunate side effect, it added an umami edge to their blood that couldn’t be found anywhere else. The power in Felix’s blood was euphoric, further deepening the haze in Beleth’s mind. His body burned with desire. He needed more. He didn’t care what more, just more. To use and be used. To pleasure and be pleasured. To wreck and be wrecked. Felix doesn’t even make a sound as Beleth sinks his teeth in again, just tenses up beneath him. Beleth’s eyes fly up to meet his again, worried it was too much. He’s greeted with lust filled eyes that could put Hell’s most talented Incubi to shame. As they stare at each other, their faces inch closer until their lips almost brush and the spell is broken. Felix grabs the offered lips with his teeth, eliciting a sharp hiss.

The teasing is too much, and Beleth grabs Felix’s wrist and pulls the offered finger forwards as he pushes back onto it. Beleth has never exactly been quiet - incubus heritage and all - but no-one else has made him this loud from so little. He keens as the first finger sinks all the way to the third knuckle in one motion. Relief flooded through him at finally being filled, but it wasn't enough.

“Mmmm. Keep being loud for me.” Felix was impressed with him, and fuck if that didn’t send a shiver of pleasure down his spine, rocking his hips forwards. The movement gave both of them some much needed friction and Felix let out the prettiest little gasp that he disguised with a cough.

Felix stretched his neck up to kiss Beleth and shut them both up but once again remembered why that was a bad idea. Instead, he gently dragged the finger out to the first knuckle and slid it back in. The gasps that fell out of Beleth’s mouth were heavenly. Or hellish. Or whatever. They made his cock twitch. A few more pumps and Beleth was begging for another finger. Felix provided.

“Prove you can take me. Ride my fingers. Show me how you’re going to fuck me,” Felix’s voice was low and gravelly. A light pink dusted across his cheeks. Beleth wanted to see how far down Felix’s body he could make it spread.

Beleth reached behind Felix to brace his arms against the wall for purchase. As soon as a nipple was in reach, Felix was nipping at it. 

“Nnnnugh” Beleth vocalised, panting from the still fingers inside him and Felix’s attention on his torso. He arched his back, pushing his chest with its thin sheen of sweat into Felix’s frustratingly cool form. He felt the hunter’s abs coil to hold him in place, latched to his chest and sucking dark bruises into the skin. The pose Felix was maintaining sent Beleth’s mind racing at the possibilities of all the different positions they could try with the hunter’s athleticism, flexibility and stamina.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Beleth pushed slowly back into Felix. He savoured every millimeter of the hunter’s fingers, taking them as deep as he can, but he’s still not full enough.

“Another one. _Please.”_

Beleth doesn’t know when he, one of Hell’s finest, the one who brought Rhea herself to her knees and their domain, started saying please. Or, arguably, pleading for anything. A touch. A lick. A bite. A finger. But fuck it, he didn’t care if it got him what he wanted.

He would never admit it, but Beleth knew he’d probably beg to take Felix’s cock if the fucking bastard demon hunter made him do it.

Part of him wanted it.

Felix arched his eyebrow but pressed kisses onto Beleth’s jaw as he inserted another finger.

“So good at taking me, aren’t you? You’ll take all the stretch, every inch I give you.”

“Fuck, Felix, yes, Felix, ah, ah, ah,” Beleth had no control over his own body anymore.

“Mmmm,” Felix hummed encouragingly. “But I said put on a show.”

Babylon, for Nebuchadnezzar and Amyitis, in the Hanging Gardens, was the last time he had ‘put on a show’ for another’s amusement. The Ashen Reaper had more than earnt their titles, their revered place in the halls of Hell. Parading around and performing for others was beneath him now. It was a matter of pride.

Pleasing Felix was more important than any of the sins.

Well, except lust, Beleth thought, as he started to work Felix’s fingers inside him. He savoured every movement to start. A slow, deliberate tempo designed to drive himself madder with carnal passions. Felix would make him crave it, before giving him what he wanted.

Beleth didn’t have much resolve to tease himself though, ramping up the speed to a self serving pace. Hard, fast, but lacking the satisfying noise Felix’s hips would make as they smacked into his own. He emphasised every sound that came from his throat - calls of the raven haired man’s name, choked out “fuck”s and “yes”es and “there right fucking there”s and a desperate growl he didn’t know he was capable of producing as he chased his own pleasure on slim, dextrous fingers. He revelled in the effect it was having on Felix though. Once only a dusky pink smattering on his cheeks, the flush was now a deep vermillion that had taken hold all the way to the top of Felix’s happy trail. Small noises that were swallowed into bites or dark love marks kept spilling from his lips. How resolutely Felix tried to hide it made it even better. It spurred him on to try harder to pull those noises out of him.

Beleth had proven that the fuck he’d give Felix, if deemed worthy enough for the chance (worthy? Fuck, how was anything else ever going to compare to this, to Felix, who had completely rewritten everything Beleth and the Ashen Reaper thought they knew about themself?), would be good enough very quickly. But Felix was entranced by the front row seat he had to the sex demon’s act. He could give the reaper what it wanted. Or he could take everything _he_ wanted instead. And Felix wanted to be undistracted when he made Beleth orgasm. To see every little shudder, every twitch, the contortion of his face. To watch as he dismantled the form chosen to resist him.

Felix’s hand pushed Beleth’s head back, directing him to look up. Beleth’s unfocused eyes somehow made out their figures in the mirror built into the ceiling. His hair was a mess, tufts shooting out at angles clear evidence of Felix’s hand in his hair. His face was screwed up in pleasure with a pleading, needy look in his eyes. He was sweating now, a bead running down his forehead as he panted heavily, chest heaving from exertion.

He watched Felix’s free hand snake into the hair at the base of his neck and pull, hard, holding his head in place so he was forced to watch himself as he fucked Felix’s hand. From this angle, he could see the fingers disappear in. He didn’t miss the shine on Felix’s abs either, from where precum had been steadily leaking from his cock. The sight turned him on even more.

Felix’s reflection made eye contact with him in the mirror as he purred “look at you.”

Felix took over and fingers thrusted inside him roughly. Beleth inhaled sharply, his breath coming in hisses.

“The same Beleth that corrupted Rhea, a complete wreck for _me.”_

“Only you.” His voice cracked as the words slipped unbidden from his lips. He didn’t know where the words came from, but as the sound of them rang in the room he knew, without a doubt, that they were true. Beleth swallowed to try and line his dry throat, but the panting breaths he stole as Felix kept fucking fingers into him made it a wasted effort.

“Good.”

Beleth preened under the praise, rocking his hips to get Felix deeper, to show how well he could take him if given the chance. Felix had other ideas in mind.

“Come for me.”

Beleth’s vision whited out. It was all too much. Felix’s velvety growl in his ear, breath tickling the shell of his ear. The crook of his fingers reaching _just there,_ exactly where he needed them, after so much build up. The room fell away as he screamed in ecstasy.

Slowly, Beleth’s senses started to return. The first was hearing, as a howling that would put the Blaidydd Alpha to shame made his ears ring.

Oh. It was him. He was howling.

Then came touch, as he felt a cool hand run up and down his arm tenderly, grounding him. The air was so thick with the scent of sweat and sex he could taste it. Finally, the whiteness faded as the dim room slowly swam back into focus. The concern in Felix’s eyes disappeared so quickly Beleth couldn’t be sure he’d seen it. There was only the largest, smuggest smile he’d ever seen.

And the glowing embers of a hunger not yet satiated.

Beleth finally quieted down and tried to speak. Nothing came out. His throat was sore. Did this mean he was allowed to reap Felix now? He wasn’t sure he had enough in him to do it.

Maybe next Samhain. This one seemed like a lost cause, in the best way. Leave the old soul to next year.

“I want the other one. Byleth. You’re stunning, and you’ve been So. Much. Fun. But, you’re spent,” Felix lamented, sounding almost disappointed. Beleth frowned. He’d only done as he was asked.

“She seems like she can keep going, and I'm not done making you come for me.”

Beleth moaned something unintelligible and slumped into Felix’s torso as his shape changed, turning from hard edges and taught muscles to supple curves that were no less deadly. A whole new canvas for Felix to map with his tongue and his hands.

"Good girl. Now lick it off."

Byleth frowned indignantly. "Why do **_I_** have to clean up **_his_** mess?" It was hard to sound defiant when you were breathless.

"You sent him to clean up yours. Should have just faced me yourself."

He had her there. So Byleth lapped at the salty gobs of Beleth's white spent sprayed over Felix's toned chest, feeling herself get wetter and wetter in anticipation for what was to come.

When she was done, Felix rewarded her with that appreciative hum again, before switching their places so she was on the bed and he was on his knees between her legs.

Hard and soft bites and kisses and licks were placed everywhere except where she needed them.

Of course he's **still** a fucking tease. Hasn’t had enough fun with Beleth, has to taunt her too. She’ll make him really fucking sorry for it next year. Pissed as she is though, his ministrations still dismantle her into a shuddering mess of pleasure.

“You’re a bastard fucking insatiable tease.”

“I’ll stop then.” The fingers that were playfully rubbing from her entrance up to her clit and back stilled.

She growled at him.

“Feisty, huh?” That stupid fucking smarmy smirking wolfish grin.

“Get on with it already," she spat. He obliged, dipping a single finger - from the other hand, she noted - inside her desperate hole as he marked out the shape of her body with his lips.

Felix's tongue traced a pattern in the skin on her hip. Blissed out, Byleth just moaned and arched up into him, until she remembered. The fingers in his hair tighten to pull Felix off.

"No. They're sigils. If you press them, they activate."

He looked faintly annoyed at her. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"We end up in hell. Invisible. A demon appears. You explode."

He hums into the junction where her thighs meet her lips and she quivers in anticipation.

"Now why don't you put that pretty scowl a little lower, huh?" She gasps at him.

Felix does scowl, and for a second it looks like he's going to do the opposite. Much to his surprise, he finds himself fulfilling her request.

"Oh - mmmph - Stop. Do you want this?" Byleth pulls his head up to ask him breathily.

He looks at her like she's a complete idiot. "Do you always ask stupid questions?"

She stares at him, so Felix is forced to answer. "Yes. I want this. I wanted to tease you more first. But now I just need to please you."

His thumb found its way to her clit and was rubbing slow, tantalising circles. Byleth was not responsible for the noises coming from her throat.

"Sorry. Sex demon heritage. Wanted to make sure you were a willing participant - ahhhhh - because I'm n-n-not s-s-s-s-sure I can, fuck, Felix, oh - right there - ah. Not sure I can control it. Not with you."

If she had any doubts, they were dispelled by the wicked look on his face as he dipped his tongue in her entrance and lazily lapped all the way up to her hardened nub.

Felix pressed an open mouthed kiss against her and Byleth writhed at the sensation, still feeling hot from Beleth’s intense session. She felt the tug of a smile press into her thigh as he hooked his arms under her knees to rest his hands against her hips and hold her in place.

His hot breath against her slick wetness had her trembling in anticipation. She had no sense of time, was it seconds or minutes or hours before he buried his nose in her coarse green hair, swirling circles around her clit.

“Damnation tastes heavenly.” Byleth could feel the vibrations of his words as he sucked on her lips, tugging gently with his own. If he was her damnation, it felt heavenly too.

Felix ran his tongue along her folds, up and down, varying the pressure and tempo. He was an attentive lover, paying attention to what made her moan and gasp and repeating it until her hands were fisted in the sheets or in his hair and she was rendered unable to string together coherent thoughts.

He was so eager for it, eating her out like a man starved, and the noises _he_ was making. Cool, panting breaths added extra sensitivity when he licked at her. The moans, full of desire and satisfaction, combined with the wet sounds of her body responding to his skill aroused her even more in a feedback loop that had her wondering how there was any moisture left in her.

She was grinding against his face as best she could with him holding her in place, chasing the feeling of his tongue lower, harder, even as she started to lose herself to the pleasure.

Normally, Byleth would be giving direction, telling a partner how she wanted it. Her sex demon heritage would kick in, and the scent of her pheromones would make them do as she asked.

Byleth needed to know this was all Felix, so she said nothing except his name and confirmations of how well he was doing. She wanted no part in building the orgasm that was starting to coil in her core, after all the effort she - well, Beleth - had put into the first one.

Felix started fucking her with his tongue, his nose rubbing against her clit as it darted in and out, curling up to taste her slick. Byleth whimpered and he ran the flat of his tongue all the way from her entrance up to her clit with a flick over it and that was enough. Her back arched up from the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick as she tried to thrash away from him as hot nerve endings fired and the orgasm crashed through her. He moved his tongue back inside her, drinking her slick as she gushed over his chin. She clenched around his tongue and it made him work harder, moaning and humming into her. He never stopped, licking long, deliberate strokes up her heat, sucking on her clit, slightly releasing his hold on her hips so she could buck up into his mouth and take the pleasure he was dealing out. It was getting to be too much, she bit back a groan as Felix nipped at her oversensitive clit, feasting on her as she kept riding out her orgasm.

Byleth couldn’t be sure if she’d been cumming all that time or if he’d made her cum twice back to back, and she was too boneless to try and work it out. She lay panting, sweating and slumped against the sheets as Felix gently licked her clean. Byleth let the fog clear from her mind as she caught her breath, and found her voice had returned.

“You, ah, don’t have, whew, a crescent moon birthmark anywhere, right?” she panted out.

“No?” His voice was a little hoarse.

If they ever found out, the Silver Tongues would want to claim him after that ridiculous display of skill. She instinctively hooked her knee around his head and pulled him closer to her protectively.

His answering smirk was deafening.

After Felix’s tongue had portaled her to another plane of existence twice more, Byleth got demanding. Sitting up, a firm hand tried to push her back down. She used her tail to swat it away.

His face was flush from the effort, evidence of her arousal all over his face. She ought to lick it off, clean him up, after he was so kind to do the same for her earlier. Ought to. But he looked delicious in such a mess and she selfishly wanted him to stay that way. He was breathless from spending longer than should have been possible between her legs before coming up for air, but his eyes still glowed with desire, strength, and a commanding presence.

Now she was coherent enough, Byleth wanted to test that last one.

“Don’t you look so pretty on your knees?” She teased, enjoying the defiance in his face.

“Call me pretty again and I’ll shut you up.”

“Heh. I thought you wanted me loud?”

He directed that pretty scowl at her again. His eyebrows pull together, casting more shadow on the burning light of his hot whiskey eyes. His jaw sets, mouth pulled into a thin line that begs to be kissed. Pretty, beautiful, enchanting, he truly was a marvel to look at. But more fun to tease.

Byleth laughed at him again.

“You talk too much. I _should_ shut you up.”

“Do your worst,” she dared him.

“Pardon?”

“Do your wo-” Felix cut her off by thrusting two fingers into her mouth. She sucked on them instinctively. Her tongue curled around them, licking up the sides before teasing his fingertips with her tongue. Saltiness filled her taste buds and she sucked harder, relishing the taste. Felix cupped her cheek with the other hand, tracing her cheekbones with his thumb. The small smile that graced his features lit up the room.

Byleth realised she would do anything to see that smile.

The only warning she got was it turning into a leer. Felix twisted his wrist, forcing her mouth open and pinning her tongue down. Byleth still lavished attention as best she could on the bottom digit, curling her tongue around it as he pushed the fingers into her throat.

“I’m sorry, I missed that.”

“Uouw sho pweddy,” Byleth managed, and the scowl was back. He scissored his fingers, opening her wider, commanded her to repeat it to the same effect.

“Hm. How about now?” He added another finger and pushed them fully into her mouth. Her jaw burned in the best way from the effort.

“Y-” He scissored his fingers again, and her words turned into a whimper.

“Better. If I take these out, are you going to behave?”

She nodded, unable to vocalise anything different, still trying to service his fingers with her mouth.

“Good.” Felix removed the digits, using the spit to lubricate the twists he gave to her nipples.

The whimpers are back as Byleth is unable to say anything else. Concern flashed in Felix’s eyes. He cradled her face in his hands, massaging small circles into her jaw to relieve the pain. Byleth hummed contentedly, and that smile was back.

She did love it (love? Her? She’d unpack it later), really she did, but she wanted something more carnal. One hand went to his hip and the other snaked into his hair, pulling Felix towards her.

“I believe you said something about taking me?”

The sex was a fight for dominance. It had started with her on her back, a natural continuation from their previous position. He’d looked into her eyes as he pushed in slowly, pupils blown wide with desire. She felt every inch of him as he slid in, stretching her until she felt so, so deliciously full. She subconsciously clenched around him and came again from that alone. She watched the set of his jaw as she did - Felix clearly enjoyed the feeling of her cumming on him and she was reasonably sure he’d nearly followed her. When she was done, he rocked his hips all the way into her, then pushed again. Byleth sobbed from the feeling, oversensitive and full and deeper than she’d had it before. The concern was back, but she nodded at him. He kept the slow pace, conscious of how overwhelmed she was, but Byleth soon calmed enough for both of them to truly enjoy it. He had this inherent sultriness that made her enjoy the soft start, fingers entwined with eye contact and a gentle rhythm to get them going. Byleth was so wet they could hear every thrust and it wasn’t long until his hips naturally sped up. The sinful slap of flesh against flesh fuelled their desire.

Never one to be considered a slacker, Byleth wrapped her legs around his waist and flipped him onto his back. Felix immediately sat up as she rode him, grinding their hips together, to lavish kisses on her long ignored skin. He seductively licked his thumb and forefinger before rolling one nipple between his fingers, cupping her breast to bring the other to his mouth. He showed it the same heavenly attention he’d shown another of her hardened nubs, switching between long licks with the broad muscle of his tongue, teasing flicks with the tip and swipes that made her breath catch. It made her hips move faster, chasing something she didn’t realise she’d achieve again. Felix realised and lay down on the bed for better access.

He lifted her off him for a second, ignoring her complaints, to dip his fingers inside her and spread her slick up to her clit. Byleth moaned appreciatively and then his hands were on her hips, lining them up as he thrust up into her. Byleth started rocking her hips again, rolling down into him for extra pleasure and Felix couldn’t resist thrusting to meet her, pulling her hips down to get himself as deep as he could go, enjoying the yelps Byleth made. Her head lulled loosely from where she was lost in the sensation and Felix remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He licked his thumb for good measure before pressing gently on her clit, mindful of how much he had abused it. She made the most delightful sound as he rubbed it in small, slow circles.

“Ahhh, Felix, please. Nggghhh, uh, uh, Fuck.” A long list of expletives left Byleth’s mouth as she continued to rise and sink on his length, bringing herself once again to the brink.

Felix reached a hand up to brush his knuckles against her face. “You still owe me a sore throat from screaming my name.” His voice was soft but demanding, and not for the first time she found herself unable to disappoint him.

She might have said him tracing the sigils on her hip could send them to hell, but if he kept up this punishing pace of fucking her into the floor (how did they end up there?) he might actually push them into it. He was grunting from the effort, clearly close. Byleth was still riding the ecstasy of the countless orgasms and felt no desire to come again, so she focused on making him feel good. She rocked her hips with him, forcing him deeper, sucking gently on that spot over his pulse that made him quake and his hips stutter.

As he came, Felix bit into her shoulder so hard he drew blood. For a split second, she allowed herself to imagine a world where he retook his human form - but less squishy, less breakable - and they could share an eternity. She wanted it.

Byleth’s fucked out state was making her delirious, because she could have sworn he felt more real beneath her.

It was a pipe dream that could never happen. They were done now, and she had a job to do.

Her hair fell forwards to tickle his face as her lips sought his. Hopefully he was feeling the post orgasm fog as badly as she was?

Felix chuckled. “Not a chance. **Below.** ” The words echoed off the stone walls of her room in hell as she hunched over thin air, naked as the day she was born and still panting from their tryst. He was getting stronger each year. Felix was coming into the powers of the Fraldarius line proper, if he’d been able to banish her solely with intent and a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go refill that glass of water and HYDRATE. You deserve it.
> 
> Sayl and Vi thank you for your help with words when they were hard and for inspo when I was stuck.


	3. Samhains Four and Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and the gang deal with the fallout from the Third Samhain. Heaven and Hell stake their claim on Felix's soul. Human Sylvain deals with the fallout from losing his friend.  
> Casual reminder of the major character death tag along with the promise that there is a happy ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Featherhearted for mood reading the ending for me so it wasn't spoilt for the people I'd normally ask. I appreciate it!
> 
> Massive thanks as always to Sayl and Vi for being a continued source of inspiration and answering questions like "Is this clear or do I have to words more?" Y'all are the best <3 Also Ren for listening to me babble on when it's not your ship <3
> 
> You don't need one for this chapter per se, but still. Get a drink anyway. Hydrate. It's important.

**_The Fourth Samhain_ **

Byleth allowed herself to be summoned thrice by the renowned occultist Linhardt in the time before the fourth Samhain. She had the answer to his questions - not giving him the full details, only the briefest outlines - and he had the answer to some of hers. (He also had the best cookies and gossip from both Heaven and Hell). How he knew so much about Fae magic she didn’t want to know.

Shapeshifter blood could revive the dead (Linhard had done some _experiments)._

Fae magic is powerful. It works by imagining something, and willing it to be true.

She’d wished, just for a moment, for Felix to be real again. Is that why he'd felt more solid beneath her at the end?

Byleth watched the antique grandfather clock surrounded by all manner of oddities - shrunken heads, jars full of heaven knows what, leather bound books written in long lost languages, ancient chalices, tribal masks, taxidermy “mermaids” and a variety of skulls - as the 30th ticked over into the 31st. She made her excuses to leave, not that he noticed. Linhardt was practically asleep on the pile of books he was annotating with her answers, anyway.

She had to feel Felix.

She had to know.

Sylvain was waiting for her in Ceasefire again. Byleth used a Fae magic door to get there from the occultist’s rooms. It avoided the questions and lingering stares she’d get from Abysskeeper and other busibodies if she used hell portals to get there. Plus Lin already knew about them and she’d imagined an unused cloakroom when using the door so no-one in Ceasefire saw her.

Pornstar Martinis aren’t her usual drink but it’s what sat at her usual place at the bar, waiting for her. She knew Yuri well enough to know this was a comment on something but she wasn’t sure of what. He was too busy playing (read: fixing) liar’s dice with customers at the other end of the bar for her to ask.

“I know why he’s here. We talked, after you left.” Sylvain was, for once, being forthright and nursing a glass of water, not alcohol. Byleth was curious about why, but decided it was more important to set the record straight.

“Was forcibly ejected.”

He laughed. “At least you got to enjoy yourself first. I got kicked out of Queen Elizabeth I’s chambers before I had a chance to get it wet.”

Byleth punched Sylvain, hard, in the arm. “You defiled the Virgin Queen?”

Sylvain chuckled and held up three fingers that he curled down as he made his points. “One, not a virgin. Two, like I said, I didn’t get it wet - or does it count as defiling if I used my tongue? THAT got wet. So did she. And Three -”

Realisation dawned on Byleth and she stared at him with a pained expression, cutting him off. “You heard us?”

“Byleth, I’m surprised the entire Holy and Unholy Garrisons didn’t hear you. I don’t know when Fraldarius got game but based on the sounds you were making? I might have to ask him for some tips. Not sure my ego can take it.”

Reapers didn’t blush. Fae could though, and the very heritage that had made her journey here so easy betrayed her now. She could feel the heat radiate from her cheeks, hot enough to fry an egg.

Yuri’s shoulders were shaking from silent laughter but he had the decency to try and hide it. He was safe behind the bar, especially because he served her alcohol. Sylvain she might hurt if he didn’t knock it off. Byleth was mortified. Where was Felix? She’d happily be sent straight back to hell right now. They had another year.

She’d miss out on his smile, though.

And time spent with him, however fleeting.

And, the answer to the question she barely dared to hope was true. She **had** to know.

No, she reminded herself. She **had** to reap him.

_I don’t want to._

Byleth ignored the thought that reverberated painfully through her chest, shooting stabbing pains in places she thought were devoid of feeling. She focused on being mad at Sylvain instead.

Sylvain took several deep, measured breaths as he tried to compose himself enough to talk. Nope. Thoughts of the formidable Ashen Reaper huffing petulantly with a face the same colour as a pink rose had him losing control again. His body shook from the deep, rich barks leaving his chest.

Byleth’s face changed from petulant to murderous and he found it in his unbeating heart to stop laughing at her, for now. Occasionally, his self preservation instinct _did_ kick in. Even more rarely did he actually listen to it.

“Why?”

She really was pissed. Byleth was rarely so short with him.

“I promised him.”

Byleth didn’t need to turn around to know who that cutting tenor belonged to.

She twisted to face Felix anyway, noting the vulnerability plain on Sylvain's face when he was around Felix. This was important. Should the promise mean anything to her? It clearly did to Sylvain. He was never open like this.

"Well?" She gestured for him to elaborate.

"I promised we'd stick together until we died together. I'm not leaving him."

Byleth knew somehow that her Sylvain had made a similar promise, and based on his current state - he must have broken it.

 _This_ is why he'd pushed her to leave Felix alone, because realistically they both knew the wayfarers couldn't find a lost soul if it shared it's location on facebook, wore a neon sign saying "I'm here" and punched the Lights in the face.

Felix would punch them in the face. Or blast them with Thoron again.

Bonded by a promise, it also explained why Felix was lingering on Earth.

What was it between these two?

What was it between them?

Even with his arms folded across his chest, face pulled into what she’d come to think of as his signature scowl and scalding eyes burning into the floor at her feet, he looked...exposed. A few strands of hair fell in his face as the pale magical light of the bar softened the barbed edges of his face.

She ached to touch it.

Felix mumbled something she couldn’t hear.

“Hm?”

“I said I’d go with you. Otherwise. To Hell. _Eternal_ damnation. But I can't leave him." Felix's eyes met hers with a searing intensity. This felt an awful lot like real feelings, especially if he was making eye contact. Sylvain told her that wasn't a thing he did.

Truthfully, she’d felt this connection between them too. Samhains spent together _living,_ rather than merely existing, dancing around each other like mayflies until the clock struck midnight and their day's lifespan was up. Or, y’know, he rudely banished her back to hell. Byleth had spent less than four days with Felix - two of them fighting - but this last time without him had felt more like a century. (It had only been two years, she checked a calendar. Longer than the other gaps but time moved slowly in the frozen circle and she'd been stationed there to quash a rebellion).

Byleth had met the Fates. They were harpy-like creatures she didn't believe in. Their influence was limited, anyway. Destiny was as much of a curse word to her as the names of the gods and saints she took in vain. However, something about being around Felix felt...right. In the way an anchor moors a boat still even in the most turbulent seas, the chain that linked them allowed the Ashen Reaper to simply **be**.

It would take some work on all their parts, but Byleth knew in her bones that she and Felix and all her other forms could be perfect for each other.

 _Eternal_ damnation was a very long time. His admission felt like its own promise, an echo of the one he’d given the human Sylvain. Felix would have given her an eternity, in her own realm, with all the consequences that bore. Extended lifetimes of suffering, to be together.

Byleth didn’t get a chance to think about it properly because the stench of blood, viscera and the sickly sweet promise of a final breath filled the bar. Appearing in front of them through a portal that should not have been possible, his gravelly rasp filled the bar.

“I’ve found you. My blade craves your flesh.”

The Death Knight cut an imposing figure as he glided towards them, scythe raised to reap. He was flanked by Kronya, a mid-tier demon with ideas above her station, and Rhea herself.

Suddenly the portal seemed a lot less impossible. A low snarl left Sylvain’s lips as he stalked forwards to protect his lost friend.

Byleth shoved Felix behind her and reached to draw her own scythe out of her back. She wasn’t quick enough. The Death Knight was already swinging his.

Ashe and Lysithea chose that moment to burst through the doors of Ceasefire, with three wayfarers and the Archangels Flayn and Seteth in their wake. They shouted something, moving to meet or intercept them. However, Byleth and the Death Knight were otherwise engaged.

The Death Knight was hell’s bloodhound. Once he had a scent, nothing stopped him. His scythe was still flying through the air towards Byleth.

She ducked to avoid its curved, cutting edge. There was no time for anything else. He was too fast. She gripped the athame into being and slashed upwards at his hands. A feeble attempt to prevent the inevitable showdown beneath them. She had to try.

Byleth felt the warm trickle of blood dribble down her slender neck from the painful screech of her obsidian dagger against his gauntlets. The Death Knight’s red irises were now alight with flame. Desire. The need to hunt. The need to reap.

Byleth managed to disengage unharmed. Minus the wrecked eardrums. She stood up. Balance still felt fine, thankfully. Drew her scythe in a swift, practised movement.

There was only the two of them. The Ashen Reaper and the Death Knight. Engaged in combat for a soul, on opposite sides. Not fighting for the reasons she’d expect - reaping rights - but for Felix’s peace.

Byleth was vaguely aware that the bar still existed. Sounds were dulled. The Angels were still running towards them. She could see they were running. They looked like they were moving slowly, though. Like the air was thicker than molasses.

The Death Knight’s grating laugh was the only clear sound. If nails on a chalkboard had a deep, menacing tone, his laugh was that. It set her teeth on edge. Rubbing raw at her nerves, prickling her skin until she wanted to tear it off. Not even she was immune to some of his nastier sound manipulation tricks.

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

Byleth nodded, adjusting the grip on her weapon. She span the scythe in one hand, testing the weight. It had been a long time since she used it as a deadly weapon. It ached for blood.

“Stand down,” the Death Knight commanded.

“No.” Byleth put as much power into the word as she could.

“Hm. No mercy.”

It was a statement. He would show her none.

It was a demand. He wanted none in return.

Their scythes clashed against each other again as the reapers dueled for the soul of one Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

*

She won't make it. His scythe will cut her in half. The least she can do now is take him with her.

Their twinned blades arced through the air. Neither can parry the other. Both aimed true.

Byleth remembered their joint acceptance as Hell reapers. To spur the other into better action. The competition between the Ashen Reaper and the Death Knight was intended to make them both realise the worst depths of their Hellish potential.

‘Til Death do them part. Byleth thought the words meant Death sending them on different assignments.

Fitting, now, that they would kill each other.

 **If we take him with us** , the Ashen Reaper form still caged in her head reminds her, **then Felix should be safe.** The Angels could grab him before Rhea did. Sylvain would make it happen.

“You are inconsequential. I welcome pain. Together, we die.” The Death Knight was macabre as ever.

“I...” Byleth began.

“Words are unnecessary.”

She closed her mouth and nodded, waiting for the biting feeling of Andras steel tempered to steal a soul.

It didn’t come when she expected it.

Time...wasn’t. Byleth realised now that they, too, had slowed. Except she wasn’t sure that was an accurate description. The sensation was similar to the one you got when you portalled between the deepest and the highest circles of Hell. The differences in how time passed could be disorientating. Depending on where you came from, it could feel like your current circle was flying past you at the speed of light or dragging past in a sluggish stupor until you adjusted.

The Hell portal might have had an effect on the passage of time in Ceasefire.

That wouldn’t fully explain it though. But if the Angels used a portal too? In such close proximity? It had never been done before. None of them could know what it would do to time. This was a reasonable deduction for the cause of the inertia.

The times of Heaven, Hell, and Earth fighting for dominance until this one place, for a moment the most important place on the whole planet, was caught in the crossfire.

Dual clangs of metal hitting metal somehow made it to her ears. The fog she’d been experiencing lifted, and time was, once again.

Between the scythes of the Ashen Reaper and the Death Knight was a lance she remembered with an involuntary pang of annoyance. The Spear of Lugh had been in the corner when _apparently_ french nobles were more important than her needs. Damn Seteth.

Felix would have put her first.

Byleth snapped her head back to check he was still there, still safe. Sylvain blocked her view. His lips were drawn back like a wild animal, fangs bared. Sylvain’s half crouch made him look like the predator he was. Ready to pounce on any foolish enough to come close.

Vampires are strong, but not demon or angel strong. If it came to Sylvain fighting, he’d be the sacrificial lamb to buy the time for Felix to escape.

 **It won’t come to that,** the Ashen Reaper reassures her.

Satisfied Felix was protected, Byleth returned her attention to the situation unfolding in front of her.

The bar’s patrons retreated as far away as they could from the action, regardless of their alignments. Good. Everyone knew getting involved wasn’t worth their lives. Backup wasn’t necessary. Too many cooks, and all.

Flayn stood removed from the action, frantically murmuring prayers of healing, speed and good luck in Enochian. Explained how Seteth managed to intervene at _just_ the right moment.

Lysithea threw the Death Knight a look like she wanted a rematch from before, but backed Ashe up as they threw magic and blessed arrows into Kronya. Her barbed tail whipped through the room. A thin sliver of blood bloomed on Ashe’s cheek. More cuts were visible on Lysithea’s forearms.

Rhea drew up to her impressive height and made to end them with a clench of her fist. Rulers of Hell had powerful magic that could stop hearts. It’s intended use was as a painful punishment for demons. It wasn’t a death sentence for them, demons are built from hard stuff. Humans are not. Humans are squishy. Not even the heavenly magic that extended their lifespans would protect these two Lights from such powerful demonic energy.

Guess it falls to me then, Beleth’s sardonic voice muttered in her head as Byleth ran towards Rhea. Since when did we clean up heaven’s messes? Beleth scoffed. Byleth grew as she moved, the strides becoming longer as his legs did until Beleth rammed into Rhea, throwing her to the floor. He followed. A knee on her neck and his weight on her back kept her pinned to the floor.

Beleth leant forwards to whisper in Rhea’s ear with all the venom he possessed.

“You might call hell to heel but don’t forget I brought you to your _knees.”_

It was that fact that protected him from much of her magics, too.

Binding rites tied you to whoever first brought you to hell. It stopped people going after the ones that made them. Hell’s citizens could be a bitter, revenge fuelled lot. Some protection from the fury of the scorned was only prudent.

Rhea squirmed beneath him. Beleth’s malicious grin widened. He leaned more of his weight onto her neck. He revelled in the fight in her eyes, knowing she was pinned beneath him and unable to do anything about it.

There was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Byleth took over, craning her neck to see. Her eyes widened.

 _“No!”_ Sylvain and Byleth growled in unison as Sylvain launched at the wayfarer advancing on Felix. The Light was wrestled to the ground, dealt with. The other two rounded on Felix together. The demon hunter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He slowly drew his hands up to be outstretched at shoulder height. Wisps of magic curled around them. White glows from his Light heritage. But also - a tint of lustful blue? Of the silvery moonlight, suggesting Fae? And grey, too. Reaper grey. Byleth’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She had to know. She ran towards him.

**“Leave me.”**

It’s the same commanding tone he used to banish her. The wayfarers fade into the ether in front of her eyes. His power never ceased to amaze her. She came to stand still next to his side. Equals. They’d fight whoever came at him next together.

Seteth and the Death Knight were trading blows. They parried. They dodged. They blocked. The Death Knight cleaved. Seteth stabbed. Neither connected. The movements sped up in a deadly dance. If it continued, real blood would fall in Ceasefire.

That would not do.

“Stop,” Yuri commanded. No-one listened. He gathered his hands together before him and threw them out to the sides, palms splayed.

The effect was immediate. Everyone in the bar was catapulted to a side, based on their allegiances. Those involved in the fight were held in place. General patrons of the bar found they were able to move, and tentatively inched towards their former seats to escape the chaos.

“Patrons, go about your business. Apologies for the interruption. We’ll settle this shortly.”

Yuri’s words put his clientele at ease and a quiet chatter sprang up. Nights took their former seats and resumed previous conversations, not daring to earn the wrath of the Nephilim or any of the other powerful players who would dare raise arms in this demilitarised place.

“As an Atrocity, you cannot speak for us.” Byleth audibly sucked in a breath at Seteth’s words. Yuri wouldn’t take that well.

He didn’t. Yuri vaulted over the bar to stand protectively in front of Byleth and Felix. The act got everyone’s attention. Holding eye contact with Seteth, he raised his chin in defiance to conduct the most blasphemous act he could.

He spread his wings.

The rip of tearing flesh made even the Death Knight wince as the wings spread from between Yuri's shoulder blades. The Ashen Reaper usually shook out their wings to get rid of the blood once they were unfurled. However, Byleth suspected the arresting figure Yuri cut with the crimson liquid staining pure white feathers was exactly the look he was going for.

"The bar's name is **_Ceasefire._ ** That's an **order**."

Seteth blanched at the Nephilim's harsh tone of voice but stood his ground.

"When the reapers lose their weapons, my people will stand down. Until then, it is necessary for us to be prepared to protect the Fraldarius boy."

Felix hissed. Clearly didn't agree to being called a boy at 23. Or however old his soul was, which was definitely at least a millennia. Byleth had found records going back that far.

"To live...to die...to know one without the other is maddening. I welcome the chance to bring Seteth into our halls even if it means I fall."

"Reapers can die?" Felix murmured to Byleth quietly, ignoring the ongoing discussion about his afterlife that Yuri was mediating to avoid all out war. To him, only the two of them were important.

 _Don’t fear the reaper,_ an ancient voice reverberated in Felix’s head. Probably the Old Soul Sylvain had told him about before Byleth showed up last year. Memories of the previous year coloured his cheeks.

Don’t fear the reaper. Got it.

He decided to ask Byleth to take his hand, but she responded before he got the chance.

"Anything can die if you hit it hard enough with the right sword."

“When you were duelling...?”

“That is what ‘Together we die’ means, Felix.” Deadpan and sarcastic as ever, she threw him a look.

“I didn’t think you’d actually die. Byleth.” His voice was laden with emotion. Her heart ached. She leaned into his side to relieve it.

Byleth's fingers brushed against Felix's.

They were warm.

Ghosts are cold. Felix was warm.

Fae magic works on the power of wishes, and shapeshifter blood can revive the dead.

Byleth laced their fingers together. Felix gave her hand a squeeze. Still warm.

As the most powerful beings in Heaven, Hell and on Earth argued their rights to Felix's soul, Byleth noticed her master amongst a group of dark priests disinterested in the brewing war unfolding before their eyes. He smiled at her. Death produced a contract from within his robes and burned it with a fireball, disappearing with the snuffed flame.

Realisation dawned. There was only one way out of this.

"You said _eternal."_

Knuckles brushed her arm to answer affirmative.

“Do you trust me?”

He rolled his eyes and squeezed her hand again.

“Felix, please.” Byleth’s wide, green eyes demanded a verbal answer.

“I said I’d follow you to hell,” Felix scoffed.

“To hell, then.”

Byleth did the only thing she could to end the madness unfolding in Ceasefire.

She turned to Felix, tugging at his waist so he was facing her. The motion was surprisingly bashful, nerves causing her heart to race. Their eyes locked as Byleth pushed her hips into his. Felix’s pupils were blown so wide she could barely see the amber gleam of his irises. They were both breathing slow and heavy, the anticipation affecting them already. She grabbed Felix’s collar to pull his face down until she could reach. Heads tilted to allow the other access. 

She’d never liked smokey campfires and fresh snow much before now, but the scent of his skin was addictive as they moved closer together. For an impossibly long second, the only thing that existed was the light sensation of his hot breath on her lips. She licked them before closing the final distance to push their mouths together.

Relief flooded through her at the sensation of finally, _finally,_ feeling his hard, smooth lips against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed instinctively as a hand snaked its way into his hair to pull him closer. Felix gripped her hips to pull their bodies together and she pushed into his taut, warm form. Warm. They were staggering back, but he held them both upright. She moaned softly into the kiss as it deepened quickly, both of them still pent up from the previous Samhain. Felix’s tongue teased at her lower lip, running back and forth. Byleth opened her mouth to invite it in. Her head swam from the experience - or maybe the lack of oxygen? They should really break to breathe. Maybe breathing was overrated. He was clearly good at this. Kissing him was a revelation; it stirred something deep within her she’d never felt before. Byleth was filled with the desire to prove her skill, too. She moaned again into his open mouth and felt the resulting satisfied hum vibrate pleasantly between them. Felix’s breath hitched when Byleth sucked on his tongue, nipping at the tip with a chuckle, drawing her own moan from him. Emboldened, she smiled against his lips and focused on nothing other than how it felt like they were made to do this.

She still didn’t believe in the Fates or Destiny, though. They cut their own path. 

The ferocity of their kiss and momentum from her pulling Felix in carried them until something solid rested at Byleth’s back. Felix nudged her legs apart with a knee and stood between them, using his weight to pin her down as they became more desperate. Wanton sounds fell in the scant space between their lips as they explored the other’s body again.

Argument temporarily abandoned, their companions and the bickering factions stared at the odd couple making out against the bar like their lives depended on it.

“He should be ours,” the Death Knight rasped. The Ashen Reaper took souls with kisses. The pair of them should be in Hell.

Seteth looked puzzled, but it was Yuri that figured it out. “Citizens of Heaven and Hell might be different, but forgive me for stating the obvious to ones as esteemed as yourselves,” Yuri bowed mockingly. “Where humans are concerned, you can’t reap the living.”

“How?” Ashe asked.

Felix and Byleth’s lips still hadn’t separated, but their hands were now exploring each other’s bodies in a way that was less than decent in company.

“She’s Fae. A mistake to combine that power with a shapeshifters, but I am not one to judge Death,” smiled Seteth.

Just everyone else, Yuri thought sourly.

“Ugh, get a room,” Sylvain said with mock disgust and a proud grin.

Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed exasperatedly, and with a flick of his wrist they were alone in a different private room to their first.

Beleth flipped Felix around to press him into the wall. “I’m taking you this time. Let’s put that flexibility to the test.”

~~~~~

**_The Fifth Samhain_ **

This year had been lonelier than the last. The earth had completed nearly six rotations around the sun since Felix died, but for the past five years...it was like he’d been able to feel his friend was still with him. Especially on Halloween. Sylvain was sure he’d been able to hear Felix once or twice, calling him an idiot in that fond tone of voice.

Sylvain still came to the grave every year. More often, in truth. Rodrigue couldn’t bear the guilt of their poor relationship anymore, and Glenn was too busy with Ingrid and the tiny terrors these days.

Sylvain always came. Felix could depend on him. Sylvain would bleed for his friends, alive or dead.

He really thought Felix was still around. Or at least, he had done until now.

There was that time Sylvain had been too deep in his thoughts to see the bus in the road he was about to step into.

Onlookers said he stepped back just in time, but Sylvain felt fingertips brush the back of his neck. Something had gripped his collar and dragged him back to safety. He knew it.

Sylvain had felt none of that this year. And the year was so, so much worse than the ones before it.

Miklan had come home from the arse end of the world for the sole purpose of making Sylvain’s life a living hell. He blamed the bruises on scorned hookups and the broken bones on boyfriends who found him in bed with their girlfriends. No-one questioned it, because the only person who would was gone. Sylvain just needed his friend to be there for him. Any sign that Felix was still out there. He’d broken the promise, he owed Sylvain that much.

Why did Felix leave him behind?

Sylvain wasn’t sure he believed in ghosts, or the afterlife, or heaven and hell. If it existed, he wanted Felix to be at peace.

He hated himself for wishing that his friend was stuck here with him just because he was too broken to make it on his own.

But he hated himself for a lot of things, so this was nothing new.

Sylvain dutifully put one foot in front of the other as he walked up the driveway towards his parents’ house. Just like when he stepped in front of the bus, he was too lost in thought to see the car in front of him. In his defense, this time it was dark, and the vehicle’s lights were off.

Unlike when he stepped in front of the bus, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Miklan pressed the gas pedal as soon as he saw his brother. Sylvain was in pain for seconds before he flew into a wall, then everything went black.

He must be dreaming, because Felix is in front of him, pulling him into the tightest hug he’s ever received.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” his raven-haired friend murmurs into his ear. “You’re safe.”

A green-haired woman crouched behind him, face lit up with delight. He’d seen her around the cemetery once or twice over the years. Funny, when she’d stopped coming, he’d stopped thinking he could feel Felix around.

“He kept the hair!” She said excitedly to someone behind him.

What the fuck was she on about?

“Byleth,” a friendly face said sternly. “The poor boy just died. He needs a chance to adjust. Your glee at his facial hair _possibly_ isn’t appropriate.”

“When have I ever been appropriate, Yuri?” Byleth retorted. Sylvain’s mind wheeled. He was dead?

Yuri rolled his eyes at her. “True.” Then he offered Sylvain a hand to pull him to his feet with a warm smile. “Welcome to Ceasefire, friend. We hope you’ll be happy here. Both of you.” Yuri’s eyes flitted to someone behind him. Who was so important that everyone kept looking at them, when HE was the one who was dead?

“Un,” called a familiar deep baritone. “Undead.”

Sylvain spun round to come face to face with himself. Clean shaven, a little older, more muscled, but definitely himself.

"Feeling metagrobolised?" The other him said sympathetically.

He nodded. The whole thing mystified him. It was a little overwhelming.

“Y’all are going to need nicknames. Your Sylvain,” Byleth pointed at Felix, “Needed rescuing, so I vote Princess.”

Sylvain protested. Felix nodded. Apparently, that meant it was decided.

“Yeah, you just get it Byleth! Great nickname. Not even Hapi could do better,” the older Sylvain said. He didn’t like Byleth’s follow up as much, though.

“My Sylvain is nowhere near as attractive, and the two will come as a pair, so hands up for Frog?”

Hands flew up around the room, and Princess put his hand up too. If he was stuck with an awful nickname, this other Sylvain needed a worse one.

“So it’s decided! The Princess and The Frog! Just like the story.” A freckled man with silver hair had nuzzled his way under Yuri’s arm. “Felix doesn’t shut up about how great you are, so I’m pleased to meet you Princess Sylvain.”

“Ashe,” Felix growled.

“No, he’s right, Babycakes.”

_“Byleth.”_

The Frog Sylvain laughed. “You know she only calls you that because you hate it, right? Stop reacting.”

Princess Sylvain found himself awfully fond of the short woman who could so easily embarrass his oldest friend. He didn’t usually trust his own judgement, but she was thick as thieves with Frog Sylvain. Maybe he'd gotten something right for once.

Byleth slung an arm around his waist. “So, the TL:DR.”

Felix winced.

“Hey, lose the attitude. I’m adapting to the times.” Byleth stuck her tongue out at Felix and he flipped her off. Oh yeah. They were made for each other.

“You’re a vampire now, Princess. Yes, the drinking blood is a thing; yes, the mindreading is a thing; yes, the no sun thing is a thing; no, the garlic thing is not a thing - you can still eat it! Which is great because Ashe and Yuri put it in everything.” She finally stopped for a gasped breath.

“Felix thought Miklan might try something so Lys - the girl scout? Looks about 12, comparatively she’s 18 but her actual age is 54 (she’s a demon hunter, magic extended her life, don’t ask) - has been slipping you vampire blood cookies. Chocolate and blood orange was literal.

Anyway, yeah, blood cookies. So when he hit you, we grabbed you and brought you here. Felix wanted to hurt him but I figured the honours should go to you. You you, Princess. I pulled Frog you off Miklan in a rage. That was _not_ easy, FYI.”

“Byleth, you’re babbling.” She was. It was nerves. This was Felix’s best friend, and he was important to Frog, and she wanted him to like her.

Ugh. Since when did _she_ get _nervous?_ The stupid demon hunter had really ruined the Ashen Reaper, huh?

Princess took a deep breath. All the pain, all the tension, all the hurt was exhaled out with the extra carbon dioxide.

“No. He’s not worth the time. I wasted my life on him, I’m not doing the same with my unlife.”

“Good answer. Can’t promise I won’t kill him though,” Frog purred. Princess couldn’t bring himself to care enough either way. As long as _he_ was done with Miklan, Frog could do what he wanted.

“Yuri, I think it’s 5 O’Clock somewhere!” Byleth called towards the bar.

“Way ahead of you, friend.” An assortment of different drinks were already prepared, waiting.

“To friends and fairytale endings,” Ashe raised a glass in cheers.

They repeated his words and drank well into the night.

~~~~~

**_Epilogue_ **

Ceasefire was a bar run by a Nephilim. No-one dared call him an abomination any more, although he remained abominably good at contouring. His boyfriend, a Child of the Light hunter, helped run the kitchen when he wasn’t hunting Nights that had gone rogue. Time in Ceasefire had taught Ashe and Lysithea, who made the delectable cakes they now had on offer, that Nights weren’t all bad.

Two vampires - nearly clones of each other, except the younger had a well groomed beard and the elder had broader, more muscled shoulders - usually helped Yuri behind the bar. Otherwise, you would normally have to pry the Princess and the Frog off the other in one of the darker corners of the establishment.

Because the only person who could truly satisfy Sylvain Jose Gautier for eternity was, well, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Since the fateful showdown between Heaven and Hell on the premises, few tried to cause trouble. But if they did, the Ashen Reaper (more often than not Byleth, but occasionally Beleth would come out to play) and the now-immortal and corporeal Felix Fraldarius, demon hunter extraordinaire, sorted it quickly. Ceasefire’s muscle had a formidable reputation. 

And occasionally, when the atmosphere needed livening up, they’d invite the incubus Claude and his pet Hilda or stunning siren Dorothea to perform. Hapi dropped in from time to time to keep everyone in line.

It was an odd place to call home, and an odd bunch of people to call family, but it was what it was.

And none of them would rather be anywhere else with anyone else.

  
  
  
  
  


~~~~~

**_Bonus Endings_ **

Hapi was very sad to have missed the gathering where the Sylvain’s were nicknamed, but she thoroughly approved.

Byleth continued her visits with Linhardt for a time, until she got permission from Yuri to invite him to Ceasefire. He passed out upon meeting Princess and Frog, because the idiot occultist hadn’t told Byleth he didn’t like blood and the vampires had their usual Bloody Marys. Linhardt and Byleth alternate between tea at his and brunch dates at Ceasefire these days, forming an unlikely friendship.

Before Rhea’s return below, the Ashen Reaper has a word with her in private. Back in hell, funds are released to increase the portal provisions from the Grand Hall of Hell as part of a long overdue infrastructure overhaul aimed at streamlining surface access. A second position, equal to Abysskeeper’s, is made to meet demand. Due to his prior training, Mr Backup is given first refusal of the job. He takes it. They recently adopted a three headed puppy together. They still don’t know Mr Backup’s actual name. It seems unimportant now.

Dimitri is the Blaidydd Alpha werewolf. He was involved in a pack war with the Bergliez’ during the Five Samhains which is why he didn’t show for the whole of this fic. He did once see Ghost!Felix in the cemetery but chalked it up to blood loss after a particularly nasty run in with Caspar. Felix didn’t recognise him in wolf form but they reconnected when the Blaidydd and Bergliez packs celebrate a ceasefire and peace negotiations in the only place you can.

Claude soon rises to the title of Valide Sultan of the Clades, effectively making him in charge of all the Succubi and Incubi. He takes a fledgeling demon from his home under his wing after converting him from his devotion to Rhea and the Unholy Church. Cyril flourishes, and catches the eye of the sweet tooth baker Lysithea one evening when Claude brings him to meet the infamous (retired) Ashen Reaper. The couple are very bappy together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK about these guys, but I'm bappy. Happy endings, man. Happy endings. I should write more.
> 
> Feeling some emotionsTM now this is over. The AU has lived rent free in my brain since the start wrote itself into being around nine days ago.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Me @ me: I just finished my WIP, no thinking of new ideas, let's take a few days off before NaNo  
> My brain: _thinks of awesome Halloween Idea_  
>  Me @ me: WHAT DID I SAY!?
> 
> But seriously I had this idea and I couldn't not write it!
> 
> I thrive on feedback, and am always up for constructive criticism! Please leave kudos and tell me how much you liked / hated it <3  
> Thanks for reading!


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